The Last Deal
by Hiryu Kaga
Summary: The game is up. It has been years since Paul the Tzimisce ran away from his Sire. Now he returns as a hero of the local Sabbat... The last deal of cards is fortunate for him, but is revenge really worth the risk?


_**Disclaimer:** World of Darkness, "Vampire: the Masquerade", Clans Tzimisce, Gangrel and Malkavian, as well as any other WoD themes are property of White Wolf - not that they care much, since they already killed the old WoD._

**THE LAST DEAL**

by Hiryu Kaga

- Sorry, Sticks. I didn't want all this to happen.

The boy's pale lips stretched into a pained grin.  
- I hoped... you'd finally stop lying now. You knew... it would happen.

They came expecting him to fight for every drop of blood he had in him. Instead, the Malkavian was waiting for them with a smile, as if he knew. He smiled even as they thrust the stake into his heart. Damn, even now he was grinning like there was no chair leg jammed right through his chest.  
- So... whaddya waiting for?

The Tzimisce turned away.  
- You won't tell anyone, given your situation... And before they find you...  
- ...Someone will be already dead. Your Sire, or you - Sticks finished for him. - In that case... go already. Don't worry about me. If I'm lucky, somebody might drop by and take care of my broken heart...

_- Are you sure the bastard didn't warn him? - Emily stepped harder on the pedal. The car sped down the empty streets, heading for the better parts of the city. _

_- Sticks or my son? - I asked, even though the answer was obvious. My oldest Childe had always been insolent... But this time Steve took one step too far. Then again, like father, like son. _

_- Steve, of course. _

_- Unlikely. That wouldn't be profittable for him. I'd expect him to go to Alexander instead. Two birds with one stone, you know... Traitor and competition, both gone with a bang. _

_Yarek frowned. - We should find him before he gets us in trouble. _

_- No time. We must finish this tonight, and get out of here before dawn. I'll take care of the him when I get the chance.  
The decision would cost me a lot later on. If I had known, I'd probably find my Childe and rip his head off before paying my Sire that visit..._

The Bishop was waiting for them in the guest hall of his mansion. Unlike the stereotypical Tzimisce, he seemed to like his haven well-maintained and clean, much like Paul remembered it from the old nights. The macabresque hobbies of the host were confined to the cellars; up here, another side of his interests showed clearly. Old weapons of all sorts, mostly swords, were hanging on the walls.  
He knew this house all too well. For some six months he'd rather not remember it was his haven... even though the word sounded ironic, as his greatest horror was the haven's owner.

- You know, it really hurt me when you disappeared - the Bishop gestured towards his ghoul as they sat down in the large, cozy armchairs. The servant, a beautiful young boy, brought the glasses. In contrast to other servitors of the house, he looked almost angelic; or at least very feminine. "Vicissitude at its best" was what crossed Paul's mind.

- You're right - the Bishop suddenly spoke. It took him a while to realize that his Sire did not read his mind, but simply watched and noticed the understading in his eyes. - Gabriel is my masterpiece. I have taken him in after you had left me... And he has become a very obedient servant - he caressed the ghoul's cheek, wiping off the mole under his eye.  
-But tell me... Childe... what have you been up to since you've left me? You came back exactly when I wanted it to happen. A coincidence?

The moment was right; the cards were dealt, now he only had to play them right.  
- Excuse me, Sire... but I would rather not speak about it in company. I don't trust anyone not of our blood. Not even her - he gestured at Emily. - So you realize... as long as your ghouls are in the room, I will not touch on the subject.

The Bishop's finger traced the rim of the glass, picking up a droplet of blood and lifting it up to his pale, exquisitely carved lips.  
- You question the loyalty of my servitors?  
- Rather their secrecy. I sincerely doubt you have removed their tongues... or broken them, one at a time.

The glass returned to the table, and the older vampire grinned.  
- True. I have managed to permanently break but a few of them... and they have devalued greatly. You taught me that lesson in your time... Very well - he waved his hand in dismissal. - Leave us. Go to your rooms, I will summon you if need arises. You too - his smile turned more malicious when he adressed his mascot. Gabriel opened his mouth to protest, but kept silent; instead he bowed and left the room. Paul's cold blue eyes rested on Emily.  
- You too. And no eavesdropping.  
The Gangrel didn't say a word as she spun on her heel and walked out. In any other situation she would feel hurt, he knew, but this time they had to keep up appearances. She shut the door and only the three Tzimisce were left in the room.

The Bishop shook his head.  
- You have a good taste; a fine pet you've got there.  
- She is quite not my pet... although she plays the part nicely. I promised her Sire that I would look after her. A Tzimisce's word.  
- To a Gangrel? Ah, there are so many things you have not learned yet...  
- At least my mascot doesn't try to talk back - Paul smiled sourly. His Sire got up from the armchair and walked over to the fireplace. He picked up the bottle and poured some more vitae into his glass.

- Gabriel is quite charming and very faithful, but too ambitious for his own good. He believes that I shall make him one of us... actually, he is convinced that I have promised him this favor. At some other time I would perhaps consider it, but fate decided to bring you back to me.  
- What will you do with him? I think he's a little jealous. Posessive of you, in a way.  
- If he becomes any more of a burden, I will be forced to destroy him... An insolent servant is a waste of time and attention - the Bishop handed Paul his glass. Yarek just sat in his place, saying nothing. He knew the Tzimisce etiquette well enough not to speak without being asked to. He was, after all, just a fledgling.

Paul drank up and started his story - of course, the properly cut version of it, never mentioning his time in Warsaw. His Sire learned that after the Ritual Paul had not managed to dig himself out, but instead of falling torpid he had woken up the next evening, finally succeeding and leaving the graveyard. Since then, he had wandered, without memory, until finally digging himself another ditch and finally falling into torpor. When he finally regained his senses, he found himself in Bydgoszcz. Luckily, he stumbled upon a pack that took him in, not without doubts. The rest of the story was more or less consistent with the truth. He even admitted to having murdered the Priest of his pack...

The Bishop chuckled quietly.  
- Ah, yes. I knew him. A sorry excuse for a Tzimisce. No finesse. No honor. All ambition. An elephant, not a Dragon.

Paul continued his story until the nights before reaching Lodz. He could see his Sire swelling with pride; the useless whelp had actually grown into a real Fiend, worthy of being called the Bishop's Childe.

Finally, the host stod up again to refill the glasses. Paul followed suit.  
- A marvellous arms collection, Sire... Although I don't recall some of it - he removed a heavy sword from the wall. Easy now. He had to sound calm. Just small talk. No tension.  
- Isn't it? It has expanded since you had left... - the old Tzimisce glanced over his shoulder. - Oh, this. A present from a certain Fury. He claimed to have found something better. Being comletely ignorant in the subject, he was easy to convince to leave this treasure in my house... - he passed the vessel to Paul and moved towards the opposite wall. - The one in your hands is an authentic Claymore. Very old and just as expensive. And this one here - he pointed his slender finger at the piece hanging in front of him - is a Teutonic masterpiece. Very solid. A dream of every connoisseur.

Out of the corner of his eye the Bishop could noticed something shiny flying through the room. Turning around he saw Paul's glass shattering against the wall. The next moment a powerful blow on the shoulder brought him to his knees.  
Paul lifted the sword again, swinging it down with both hands. The older vampire kicked out blindly, toppling him over before the blade fell.

Yarek jumped forward, but it was too late. The mangled body on the floor was already darkening and growing...

_A dark shape obscured everything for a moment, hovering above me... Then I heard a short scream, followed by a sound of ripped flesh and breaking bone. I knew my Sire was there, and my Childe was no more. _

_It felt as if someone poured gasoline into my chest, around my terrified, cold heart, and lit a match. As the clothes ripped around my torso, in my last thought I hoped that Emily had locked the door from the outside, for her own sake. Then - there was only fire and blood._

The door slammed open. In the middle of the room Emily could see two large shapes, entangled in some grotesque embrace. A dark zulo, much like the one she recalled from the old pack, was trying to free itself from the arms of the other, more familiar shape. The white monster's fangs were buried in the other Tzimisce's throat. It seemed that Paul had the upper hand.  
Finally the terrifying creature loosened its grip; the darker corpse fell to the floor, slowly decomposing into dust. The white zulo kneeled next to the other body; it was mangled almost beyond recognition, but she knew who it had belonged to. The monster picked up the severed head, hugging it to his chest, and let out a heart-breaking howl. She quickly ran towards him.

Gabriel burst through the door, the rest of the ghouls following. Paul regained his composure as he stood up, keeping his monstrous form. Forcing his alien face into an expressionless mask, he sized down the servitors.  
- The blood of your domitor now flows in my veins. From this moment, you will serve only me. Now, get back to your rooms. All of you.  
None dared to protest. Only Gabriel stood his ground.  
- You too. Don't worry your pretty head, I will give you what my Sire promised you...

_The car sped towards the train station. We had little time, the sky was red from the fire we had started. We had taken our time to move a nice part of my Sire's collection into the trunk; I could think of a few people in Warsaw who would appreciate a good piece of iron. I tried to tune into this train of thought, to block out my conscience. Doing a very lousy job. _

_My Childe... my son. He was dead because of me. I should have sent him away with Emily, fuck the appearances.  
And I had killed my Sire. My father, in a way. I had devoured him. True, he deserved death... but I was slowly realizing that by doing so I hadn't rid the world - or myself - of him. He was still there, inside me, howling with anger... but at the same time, taunting me, his stupid little Childe. _

_Then I had gone to the ghouls... I had visited each of them, quietly drinking them down so others wouldn't hear. Manslaughter.  
I really pitied Gabriel. He had really believed my Sire... and me. He expected me to feed him, to make him my Childe... But I couldn't. I had placed his cold, lifeless body in the guest hall, next to the pile of ash that used to be his master, along with another ghoul. They were about the same age as me and Emily; it made them perfect decoys.  
Burning down the house was not a problem. They would think that we didn't manage to get out in time. And since my Sire was not one to invite a lot of guests, nobody would notice the disappearance of some swords in a longer while. _

_Now we only had to reach the train and leave this goddamn city behind. Hoping that the Prince of Warsaw hadn't called a Blood Hunt on us yet; news travel fast, and notoriety doesn't disappear without a good reason. _

_I looked at Emily. Her face was stern as she drove recklessly, breaking every single law she could. Suddenly she returned my gaze and smiled softly. And then, for a shortest moment, I felt that I had done something good after all._

Hot wind messed with the boy's wild mane, as he fearlessly watched the burning house.  
- Good luck, bro... Don't let the Warsaw licks eat ya.  
He laughed out loudly and walked away. To give away their brothers, even when betrayed, just wasn't the Malkavian way.

**THE END**?

**A/N:** The first version of this story was written in Polish, and can be found on a few Polish websites. This is a revamped (no pun intended) translation.

All the characters are my creation. Only one of them was ever roleplayed - Paul, my first VtM character (and, up to date, the best one). A Tzimisce who ran away from his Sire, hid in a Camarilla city, and then decided to return to Sabbat... Not because of their cool ideology or that sort of stuff, mind you. ;)

Read and review. No flames, please; I'm quite fireproof.


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